


So This Is Love

by Azar443



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar443/pseuds/Azar443





	So This Is Love

“Hey.” You felt a gentle shake. “You need to wake up now.” You mumbled something incoherent and turned your head, but the voice was persistent and it ( _maybe it was a he?_ ) was now calling your name urgently, but it was still soft, and was that… was that _amusement?_ Your eyes snapped open and your attention was caught by the weight on your shoulder, which turned out to be Percival Graves’ warm hand. His slightly amused gaze met your embarrassed one, and as he motioned for you to focus on the _terribly_ boring meeting, you couldn’t help but notice how the slight crinkles at the edge of his dark eyes added to his attractiveness, to his charm. You noticed that his body was subtly angled so your sleeping form had gone unnoticed by everyone else in the room, something you were extremely grateful for and you made a mental note to get him one of those apple pies he seemed to love.

When the meeting was finally over, you made a beeline to the door, hoping to escape any questioning or beratement about why you chose what was perhaps the most important meeting of your fledgling career to fall asleep. You cringed however, when you felt a light tap on your shoulders, and hanging your head, you immediately followed your boss to his office, praying to the gods that you weren’t about to be fired. Because that would suck. A lot.

The heavy oak door closed behind you with a thud that sounded disapproving, and you shifted uncomfortably while you waited for whatever scolding you were sure you were about to receive from Mr Graves. Bracing yourself, you were surprised when a cup of hot cocoa was placed on his desk in front of you. You cocked your head confusedly at the director who sat down comfortably, sipping on his own cup of cocoa. Gesturing for you to sit, you did as he asked, and he scrutinised you, though not unkindly. It was silent in his office for a while, and you sipped tentatively at your hot drink, unwittingly letting out a quiet moan because _it was just so good_. You peeked over the rim of the cup to see Mr Graves with a slight smirk on his lips as he watched you enjoy the cocoa and you reddened, which just made his smirk grow.

He very courteously waited until your drink was finished before he decided to break the silence. You were feeling slightly more at ease then, and you couldn’t help but giggle inwardly at your boss’s cocoa-making skills, but you quickly turned your attention back to him.

“Are you all right?”

You blinked owlishly; you didn’t expect the question. Your hesitation must have shown on your face because Mr Graves further clarified his question. “I’m not going to yell at you for falling asleep in the meeting, but I need to know if you’re well enough to take on the case.”

The case. The do-or-die. The screw-up-and-you’re-out. You _needed_ this mission to go well, to prove to Mr Graves that you _belonged_ in MACUSA, and that he could count on you when push came to shove. You were a rookie Auror with only 5 years under your belt, a baby compared to your more experienced colleagues. You had potential; you knew that, and so did the higher-ups, including Mr Graves. He was your sponsor when you applied to the Department of Magical Security, thanks to a favour from your uncle, who had once been his mentor. Naturally, he had been sceptical of your ability and had put you through the grinder to make sure you weren’t just relying on your family name to get to where you needed to be. You weren’t the best of the recruits he had seen, but you made up for it in terms of hard work, a sharp mind and a willingness to give your all to whatever you were doing. That won him over, and he’s kept you under his wing ever since, so to speak. He wouldn’t ever admit to anyone but he was quite fond of you; you reminded him of a little puppy staring at him with wide, trusting eyes, waiting to please him.

Anyway. The case. For the first time since you joined the department as an Auror, you were given the responsibility of heading a mission, meaning you were the one who decided on the case assignment and the strategy for approaching this case. It was a simple smuggling case, involving Kent and Lanie Marshwiggins, a husband and wife pair who had been on the department’s wanted list for some time now. According to intelligence reports, they were suspected of smuggling dangerous artefacts that were aimed towards the extermination of No-Majs, which at this particular time when tensions were rising between the magical and non-magical community, meant that the department needed to crack down hard on them, or risk exposure. Granted, it should be an easy case, and you had your colleagues and Mr Graves to help you along the way. But still. Your performance on this would affect your upcoming evaluation, of whether you would finally be promoted to being a full-fledged Auror, or whether you would be stuck at the bottom, forever filling out paperwork under the supervision of the boring Abernathy. You were confident enough in your abilities that you knew everything would go well; you had read and reread reports on your targets, the house they were supposedly keeping the smuggled items in and you had gone over the plan over and over again with the Aurors who would be on the mission with you. You weren’t _too_ worried about how the mission would go, but you were apprehensive about whether or not you would do a good enough job to please Mr Graves.

All right, all right, you supposed you had a _teeny_ crush on the older man, but who could blame you? Half of the department had a crush on him, and half of those people were men. He was a delicious looking man, he was intelligent, kind, fair and he had great taste in clothes. He always turned up for work looking nothing less than impeccable; you never got tired of secretly ogling at how well his silk waistcoat hugged at his trim figure, and oh god don’t even get started on how his tight (but not too tight) slacks very nicely accentuated his _very_ nice ass. But you digressed. You didn’t just like Percival Graves because of his looks alone (although they certainly helped, you won’t lie, looks _are_ important), you liked him because there was a softness to his tough exterior that you managed to catch a glimpse of sometimes, when you had made him particularly proud and he’s got this twinkle in his eyes that makes you beam in return. You liked him because whenever you were stressed out about something and stayed back until it was dark outside, he made you pack your things up and escorted you back to your cosy little apartment and made you promise him that you would go straight to bed and not stay up any longer. You liked him because while he was stern and often chewed people out for screwing up on the field, he was also quick with a quiet word of encouragement to the nervous first-timers, and made sure to let his people know they did a good job with a simple clasp on the back. He was a good man, and you thought you could love him.

“-ing enough sleep?” You shook yourself and stared at him, obviously missing out on whatever he was saying. “I’m sorry?” His lips twitched and he leaned forward on his desk, his fingers steepled. He caught your faint blush and couldn’t help but chuckle to himself because you were _still_ nervous around him, even after working under him for five years. He cleared his throat and focused his attention on you once more; regardless of his soft spot for you, he needed to be sure you could handle the pressure of your first mission and not falter when you needed to be at your best.

“I need to know if you’re up for this, that you’re not going to be making careless mistakes on the field because you’re not getting enough sleep.” He raised a hand to still your protests, “I know you’re a good Auror, and I know this isn’t going to be a difficult case for you. And that is why I need you to be at your best for this, so that everyone else can see the potential that I see in you.” He offered you a slight smile; Percival Graves is a man who is the definition of subtlety, everything he does is slight, careful and blink-and-you-miss-it. Which was why you appreciated what he said all the more; while he’s not stingy with praises when it’s due, he doesn’t hand them out freely either. For him to admit out loud that he has confidence in your ability as an Auror was like winning the lottery, better even. You straightened your spine and nodded earnestly, “I promise you I’ll do my best Mr Graves, I won’t let you down. I’ll be at the top of my game, you’ll see! I’ll get eight hours of sleep and eat properly; I’ll not get sick, I promise you!” You immediately wished you had curbed your enthusiasm; you clearly went overboard and ended up sounding like an overeager child. You slid down your chair slightly, wishing you could just disappear.

Percival felt the beginnings of a laugh bubbling at the pit of his stomach. You were so eager to please him that it made him feel less jaded and made him remember his own initial enthusiasm when he first became an Auror. He let another smile slip loose, wider this time, and he was pleased to see it made you less embarrassed about your outburst. Reminding you not to fall asleep at another meeting again, he waved you out the door, the smile still fixed on his lips. You were such a fetching creature and he derived great amusement out of your innocence and willingness to please, and he felt his heart remind his overworked mind that he wasn’t too old for love still. Scoffing at that, and also reminding himself that it wasn’t a good sign when his organs started “speaking” to each other, he returned to work, although flashes of your shy smile and your inability to sometimes control what you said kept creeping up on him. It was annoying ( _really, he thought you were terribly endearing and just wouldn’t admit it_ ).

* * *

Tomorrow was the big day, _your_ big day, and despite your assurances to Mr Graves the other day, you couldn’t help but feel so anxious you could hardly sleep or eat. You had trouble focusing on your work as well, which was irritating you because you had been staring at the same damn page for an hour and you _still_ had no idea what it was that you were reading. You growled at the report you’ve been staring at the whole day, your hand running through your already messy hair. You were alone in the office; everyone had gone off for lunch and while you had been invited to a nearby diner by several of your colleagues, you needed the time to finalise the plan for tomorrow, to go through everything and make sure there were no holes in your plan for things to go wrong. You felt a headache coming on, and you groaned, pinching your forehead between your fingers. You _did not_ have the time for a blasted headache.

One of the enchanted mice memos scurried up to your desk, squeaking to get your attention. Curiously, you unfolded the piece of paper to see the director’s neat cursive reminding you to get some food before you passed out from exhaustion. Startled, you looked up to see the man working through the mounds of paperwork on his desk. His blinds were open, which explained why he knew you hadn’t left for lunch. His head raised to meet your gaze (you were surprised to see that he wore glasses), and he tapped his watch to remind you of the time, jerking his head for you to go and have lunch. He must have saw the hesitation on your face, because he rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion, eliciting an indignant squawk from you at being treated like a child, but you felt a smile creep onto your face even as you rose from your desk stretching. It was nice to know he cared, in his own unassuming way. You gave in and went to the cafeteria to grab some sandwiches, including some tuna sandwiches for Mr Graves. Despite all his reminders to you to remember to eat properly, you doubted that he had eaten anything at all, so you decided to remind him that he was human too, even if he refused to believe he was a mere mortal.

Percival heard a knock on his door, and absent-mindedly called for whoever it was to enter. He was pleasantly surprised to see you holding a plate with several sandwiches in your hand, and even more so when you placed the plate before him. He peered curiously at you over the rim of his glasses, and you mumbled something about making sure he ate something before rushing out of his office. He was somewhat touched at your small gesture, that someone had remembered that he was human too. Reaching out for a tuna sandwich, his favourite, he munched thoughtfully on it, and he couldn’t help but think it was the tastiest sandwich he’s ever had.

* * *

“MACUSA, put your wands down!” You and Auror Cavendish knocked the door wide open, expecting to find your targets in the room, but they had predictably took off at the first hint of danger. “There, up the stairs!” Cavendish gave chase and you followed, calling out for one team to cut any possible exit routes the couple might take and for backup to be on standby. When you reached the corridor where the two fugitives were, Cavendish was already having his hands full duelling the crazed pair. You quickly joined in, but you were nearly taken by surprise at how proficient they both were at duelling. That was never mentioned in any of your reports, but that wasn’t important now. You were on autopilot and relying on every bit of training Percival had put you through, firing spell after spell while watching yours and Cavendish’s backs. You felt a rush through your blood; you had them now, there was no way they would get away now.

Eventually, you managed to back the Marshwiggins against the railings of the balcony. Cavendish yelled for the team on the ground to prepare a safety bubble in case they were desperate enough to jump. You had managed to stun Kent and bind him, and you were _this_ close to taking down Lanie when you suddenly heard a small voice call out from behind you.

“Mommy?”

You were stunned, and as you turned to take in the little girl standing behind you with her thumb in her mouth, the crazed witch shrieked out the Killing Curse towards you, and it was only due to Cavendish’s blessedly fast reflexes as he pushed you down that you weren’t a corpse lying on the floor. Cavendish managed to save you, but the curse flew straight on, and when the witch cried out as she killed her own daughter, all you heard was a mother’s distraught cry. You didn’t know what happened after that, all you could see was the little girl lying on the floor with her eyes unseeing, mouth wide open as she called out for her mother. You crawled over on all fours, not caring that the splinters of the ruined floorboards were digging into your hands and knees, and with trembling hands, closed the child’s eyes and pushed her hair back. You thought she looked like a doll. She would have grown up to be a beauty, and you wondered if she might have took after her parents’ criminal tendencies.

You were distinctly aware of the other Aurors joining Cavendish in clean up and taking the Marshwiggins in. Someone came over and placed a white sheet over the little girl’s still warm body, and your hand was gently pried away from her stiffening hand. You felt someone else with warm hands and warm breath help you up from where you were kneeling and lead you out of the suddenly stifling room. Suddenly there was light, and a chaotic burst of sounds greeted your ears. You couldn’t hear anything they were saying, you just heard irritating buzzing and you frowned, turning your face into that person’s warm coat. You felt a hand resting on the back of your head, and he (you were certain it was a he, and his voice was a soothing constant in your frazzled mind) with a pop, he had Apparated you into the familiar surroundings of your home.

Your vision cleared somewhat, enough to realise with a start that it was Percival Graves who had taken you out of the house and back to your home. If you were in a normal state of mind, you would have giggled girlishly at what it meant that the handsome man was in your home. But you weren’t. You weren’t naïve to the realities of your jobs; casualties were to be expected, necessary even at times, but this was the first time you had seen someone die right in front of you, and a child at that. You weren’t arrogant to believe that the girl’s death was your fault, and you knew, logically, that her mother was the one who inadvertently struck her down, and she would have to live with the consequences for the rest of her life. You were however, still human. You were still touched by the grief that follows death, especially in one so young. You were still innocent and unjaded enough to regret the death of someone you should be protecting, and you weren’t above blaming yourself for not stopping Lanie Marshwiggins in time from killing her daughter. With those revelations, your mind started to pry its way out of the fog shock left behind. Your breathing quickened, coming in quick short breaths as the sobs started to come, and Percival was there in an instant, rubbing your heaving back as he told you over and over again that it was ok, that you would be ok. The whole thing was such a clichéd scene, something straight out of those romance novels you hated reading, and yet everything hurt so badly then, that you thought there might have been some merit to those scenes where the man comforts the distraught woman. You just hated that you were the damsel in distress.

As your sobs dwindled, you were mortified when you started hiccupping and Percival chuckled at your squawk of indignation. The tips of your ears burned a bright red, and you smacked his arm to stop his laughter. It was probably an offense to hit your boss, but you thought Percival would probably overlook it this time. He summoned a glass of water for you, and you sipped on the cold liquid slowly, savouring the bite as the water ran down your throat. A watery smile found its way onto your face, when Percival offered you a cup of hot cocoa; it was almost like an inside joke for the both of you now, that he would offer cups of cocoa whenever you were being bird-brained or distressed. The older man settled in the couch before you, not saying a word as you finished the sweet drink. You appreciated that he made the cocoa extra sweet for the occasion, to stave off the shock, you supposed.

Before he could say anything, you reached out and in a burst of courage you didn’t think you had, trailed your fingers over his clean shaven face. You were surprised when he caught your hand in his firm grasp, and you felt your heart melt at the boyish grin he offered you. His smile faded, and his gaze turned sombre once more as he searched your face for a hint of how you felt. You felt tears prickle against your lowered lids again at the overwhelming concern in his eyes, and all your doubts came pounding at your walls, threatening to break open the dam again. _You screwed up. You’re not good enough. You’re not fit to be an Auror. You let a little girl die. You’ll let more people die. You’ll always let him down. Leave while you can_. Suddenly feeling like a child again, you let out a sniffle before you clutched at the lapels of Percival’s coat, your hands balling in fists as you tried, in vain, to stop yourself from crying, to not look weak in front of the man you wanted to please, the man whom you wanted to always be proud of you. You gritted your teeth, chanting a mantra over and over and over again, _don’t cry don’t cry don’t look weak in front of him don’t break down don’t cry don’t-_

You felt Percival gather you in his hold and run his hands along the length of your back as you lost what little control you had over your tears. His embrace felt like a hallelujah to your shocked body, and his breath on your hair a web of safety and comfort, spinning a secure cocoon around you. He crooned meaningless words to you, calming your wounded heart and infusing you with a warmth you never realised you needed. Through the haze of his words and his touch and his _everything_ , you felt him kiss your wet eyelids and your hair and your forehead and your lips, as he fervently whispered that you were such a good pet, that you hadn’t failed him, that you were his best girl and you had been so, so good, almost forcing the words into your very being, and _oh_ you thought, this must be what it was like to love.


End file.
